


Assassins and Apples

by SfrogPlus



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Apples, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Murder, BEWARE THERE ARE APPLES, Bad Jokes, Best Friends, Cringe cringe cringe fanatics welcome abroad, Dirty Jokes?, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Horny oma, Hostage Situations, In case you dont know i curse a lot in my writing sorry-, Killing, M/M, Me testing a writing style be like, Modern Assassins, Out of Character, Poison Apples, Saihara is undertone hating himself every second, funny?, im deas both inside and out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SfrogPlus/pseuds/SfrogPlus
Summary: Kokichi Ouma, male, twenty-two years old, one-hundred fifty-six centimeters tall, living in a half-paid big fifth-floor apartment that took up the entire floor, a rather horny bastard— I meant sly prankster, known for working with no one, no one but one person, earning the title of“Missy”, in the assassin business.Shuichi Saihara, male, twenty-one years old, one-hundred seventy-one centimeters tall, living in the other half-paid big fifth-floor apartment that took up the entire floor, a taciturn, cold-hearted fake detective known for working with no one, no one but one hell of an annoying ass not-even-human-type-of-person, earning the title“Young Master”, in the assassin business.They find themselves trapped in a peculiar situation, gaurdians both killed in high school, and loved ones being threatened because of them, Saihara and Ouma are being forced to be hitmen— and have been for six years. Forced to kill each other over after a failed assassination for their friend, Nagito Komaeda, and now, they aren't sure what's right or wrong anymore.CRINGE LEVELS HIGH, DO NOT TRIP.(Repost since I made a small oopsy with the draft and accidentally posted it)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Assassins and Apples

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Youtube link to Missy and Young Master's Villain Career](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/660469) by Starry sky but og is CACHE-9. 



> [Here is the English translation to song. ](https://www.wattpad.com/683028326-missy-and-the-yong-master%27s-villain-career-english)  
> It's on wattpad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is the summary— Oh, and there's apples. Did I forget to mention that..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Yes, to answer your question, Saihara and Ouma wear sunglasses at 3 AM and when they enter the building, and no, Saihara and Ouma do not take them off. The glasses are to be, and always to be, remain on their face unless emergency. 
> 
> And Ouma, I need to clam him down on the jokes.

-—=Danganronpa Company's 53rd floor, July 12th, 8:02 PM=—-

"I want you to kill someone for me. Nagito Komaeda. You know him, don't you? Oh riiiight. You two were his closest friends after all— Were? Is? Well, it doesn't even matter because he's going to be bye-bye sayonara. Well that is, if you can do it.

"Can you handle the job, Missy and young master? Or are you two little scared wusses that need a little... _p_ _ush?_ "

"N _o, ma'am._ "

"Nope!— Ow, my tongue! This fucking lollipop is trying to kill me… Young master, please help your dear missy! I'm so scared of the scawy big lollipop!"

"This… This was supposed to be a serious moment. Shut up."

-—=A rather large bush, July 13th, 4:29 PM=—-

July 13th, a hard summer day that slapped their skin like a dog’s tongue slathering them with its saliva and it wouldn’t stop. Despite the heat, a man with sickly pale skin, too much to be considered _normal_ , white hair in a strange cloud-like way, wearing too many layers for this type of horrid weather and one more, sits quietly on the scene of nature, a small leaf annoying the fuck out of the person hiding behind a large bush that the drifting sick guy hasn’t seemed to notice.

Kokichi Ouma, male, twenty-two years old, one-hundred fifty-six centimeters tall, living in a half-paid big fifth-floor apartment that took up the entire floor, a rather horny bastard— I meant sly prankster, known for working with no one, no one but one person, earning the title of _“Missy”_ , in the assassin business.

Yes, you heard me, you heard the poorly written narrator that spelled the word assassin as ass ass in, did a little giggle, and then spell it properly correct. “ _The assassin business”_. Now, let’s continue.

Shuichi Saihara, male, twenty-one years old, one-hundred seventy-one centimeters tall, living in the other half-paid big fifth-floor apartment that took up the entire floor, a taciturn, cold-hearted fake detective known for working with no one, no one but one hell of an annoying ass not-even-human-type-of-person, earning the title _“Young Master”_ , in the assassin business. 

Hiding behind a bush with each other, eyes carefully focused behind sunglasses and well-pressed complementary suits that Akamatsu, too nosey for her own good, insists on ironing them.

Nagito Komaeda, at least a few years older than them, eyes drifting with arms crossed, head slowly falling down to his shoulder. Their target, their friend, somebody over the years that has been in this field for years. Since high school, since college, he was always there, Saihara bitterly finds, it makes the job harder.

That’s all this was, Ouma tries to convince them both, it was just a job from their boss, that _bitch_ , that ass that went by the goddamn name of Junko Enoshima, and their business, otherwise known as Danganronpa, with some utterly stupid monochromic fucking version of the cartoon animal pooh.

It’s not like they volunteered, it not like they _want to_ do it, but they were the only ones that Enoshima thought it would make sense; bring more of that despair she so often talks about since after all, they were the closest to the white-haired cloud that is of Komaeda if you disclude Kamukura. Kamukura never really counted for anything, as he seemed to have a free past. _Oh,_ how Ouma wishes he _was_ him.

That was a lie, though even Ouma isn’t too sure.

Komaeda yawns and Saihara’s eyes glance at Ouma, who is looking to be spacing out a little more than Saihara would ever care to tell him, so he doesn’t, and his eyes fall back to Komaeda. 

Except he isn’t _there_. 

Panic flood Saihara’s mind when he realizes that. A sudden tap on the back of his shoulder makes him flinch like he was an anxious, shy detective teenager placed in a killing game that personality was a lie. 

His sunglasses fall off when Ouma pushes him uncomfortably up, seemingly out of that fixated daze he was in earlier,and his yellow-grey eyes fall to the person who tapped his shoulder. Komaeda, standing behind them with one hand in his pocket and a placid look on his face. 

“Hellooooo, Komaeda-chan!” A grin stretches across Ouma’s face, leaning too much towards Komaeda and hands behind his head, “What’re you doing here?” He does a dramatic gasp, “Were you- You must have been stalking us! You’re such a creep!” Saihara straightens his back, grabbing his sunglasses and placing them back on his face before roughly rubbing his hand through Ouma’s hair.

“Stop it.” Saihara mummers, eyes turning to Ouma and then to Komaeda, “You… “ Saihara pauses, before turning his gaze away and pulling Ouma’s arm, to which he receives a whine. He isn’t sure what to say.

Komaeda smiles, “I already know, Saihara-kun, Ouma-kun.” Ouma’s face goes blank for a small centimeter of a second, and it goes back to being a wide grin right after, eyes staring into the soul of Komaeda. Komaeda’s voice goes into a small whisper, _“I already know._ But I'm afraid I can't let that happen. I cant let yiu kill me just yet, and I apologize."

“What are you even talking about, Komaeda-chan?” Ouma asks, pulling his arm away from Saihara’s grip. “Huh? Huh? Huh, huh, _huh?_ ” Saihara scolds Ouma for repeating words, and Ouma pulls out a totally-not-but-maybe-not-too-sure pocket knife from Saihara’s pocket. “I’m sooo _oooooooo_ confused about what you’re talking about!”

“That’s a lie,” Saihara has to add, grabbing the knife back and stuffing it into his pocket. “Wait— Komaeda-san?” Saihara does a quick glance around to see that nobody is in his line of view. 

Saihara and Ouma pause for a moment, and when they both hear nothing, Saihara curses, running a hand through his hair, “ _Shit_. We lost him.”

“We did? Don't you mean _you_ lost him?" Ouma asks in a gasp, leaning onto Saihara's arm and pulling it close, a surprisingly earnest smile coming from the guy. Saihara mumbles something about Ouma being annoying but makes no sign to try and detach from each other, "Well, well, young master!—"

"Don't call me that, missy." Saihara says, shifting his glasses to hang out his pocket, pulling Ouma's off as well. It sounds wrong to use that name without such a context, which makes Ouma giggle, unresistant as Saihara takes off both their black and white coats, because sweat, Saihara decided, was not what he wanted after a failed attempt at murder.

Ouma finally continues after a long pause of stripping— in the version of just coats and ties and armed weapons that could possibly trigger one to believe they were trying to both rob and throw confetti at someone.

"Ohhh _right_. Okay, young master," Ouma says, grabbing their coats from Saihara, "How 'bout we both head home for tonight, young master? Ugh! And I was so pumped to slice Komaeda-chan's neck off as well! Plans ruined! Worst night ever!" Ouma makes a pouting face.

Saihara gives a cold glance Ouma's way, his gentle, somewhat aloof voice making Ouma feel something he is sure he doesn't need. But he sure as hell _wants_ it.To satisfy all those kinky needs Ouma doesn't, and ever want to know about. "Missy, it's broad daylight, it can't be night yet. And we can't go back home when we haven't finished the job. We only have one day, missy, _one day_."

One day to kill their friend or their boss will get mad. Life is just jolly.

"Yeah, yeah- You know, Enoshima-chan is soft on me, it'll be _fine…_ C'mon, young master! It's not like Komaeda-chan's is going to report you to the police, he just ain't that type of gay power bottom, y'know?" Ouma insists, hugging Saihara in all his sweaty, glorious form. "Pwetty please?"

Saihara sighs, eyes tired, and flicking Ouma straight on the forehead, trying his best to get away from Ouma's grasp. Saihara is surprisingly stronger than he looks, after his one-on-two practically torture of training he had to go through with Harukawa and Momota, but Ouma is fast and nimble, able to wrap his arms back around until Saihara figures out the trick.

"No, I in fact do not know Komaeda's sufficient ways of gay power bottom kindness. But…" Saihara pauses, "We can always ask for one more day." It comes out so naturally that it feels like their talking about a deadline for some sort of paperwork, not the assassination of their long-term mentor.

-—=5th floor apartment, July 13th, 7:30 PM=—-

"So," Ouma starts, legs perched up in an almost defensible manner and a pizza in one hand, a drink can for a locally popular carbonated acid company in the other. "How does a human dick even fit in that small ass? I mean-" he takes a huge bite out his pizza, swallows without chewing, and continues on with this dear and wonderful conversation. "Not gonna judge, but that's where poop comes from, not, uh... I don't know, dick cum juice from creampie. Or something" What an articulate sentence.

Casual conversation was the filler in their fifth-floor apartment when Saihara wasn't busy working as a cold-case private investigator, or Ouma making fun of people in both real life and realer life, when they were both either sitting on the floor next to the couch, eating fast food while Ouma talked about rather _"I'm not sure why but I have a feeling I'm going to HELL"_ stuff, or when Saihara couldn't keep his door locked end Ouma would end up barging in with a somewhat old, forgotten buttoned shirt Saihara lost and in the seasonal fashion, pantless, or when Ouma would start making something in his own study he had to get Saihara for and Saihara would spectate for safety reasons that shall remain unexplained.

"I see." Saihara nods, eyes drifting far off to the way Ouma's hair curled. It reminded Saihara of a squid tentacle, he wonders if Ouma has ever tried to speak the language that of a squid speaks.

"And why do men have nipples!? I mean, I certainly enjoy shaking these beauties around whenever I wanna fling-"

"Missy, you're a virgin." Saihara has to explain to the virgin, to which he earns a loud noise and a tongue sticking out, "And swallow before you eat, or it might look like I staged your assasination." Ouma laughs at that, though it's not funny.

"Hm… I'll consider it just for you, young master, because, after all, I love you sooooooooo much!" Ouma says in a sing-song voice, chewing on his food. "And I'll let you know, I'm very, _ver-_ y popular with the boys, young master."

Saihara leans back, hand shifting behind himself and the other with a slice of pizza. His cold gaze falls to Ouma for a moment, before turning it away. "Is that so? Then why is it whenever you're home with me that you dress with your nice clothes? It wouldn't be much of a date without you dressing up." 

Ouma's nice clothes were unique, in the way Saihara wasn't sure how to speak about.

His work clothes Saihara saw him in consisted of a closet of white suits and black button-ups, a checkered tie and one gag gift headband Enoshima forces him to wear on special occasions. It read, _"Missy's young master"_ in bright pink. Saihara's pretty sure Ouma hates it. When they are out of work, Ouma tends to wear much more... colorful things, like a neon purple crop top and sunset shorts Saihara doesn't know what to make out of, or something like that. 

A small flashback about when Saihara found lingerie on the bottom of Ouma's closet appears, though the reason why he had it remains fruitfully unknown. Thank God for that.

Ouma grins, "That's because you're my one true love, young master!" He then proceeds to grab Saihara's drink and sip it, "Ew, what is this crap?" His face goes sour like he ate a lemon whole and he sticks his tongue in before piling it back, making weird noises.

"It's alcohol. You were with me when I was buying it, you should know." Saihara states, eyes shifting around the room. There was an apple on the floor on on white plate, but there wasn't much to question about it, so Saihara didn't. After living with Ouma for so many years, you learn that your questions can only get you to nowhere with Ouma. "I think… Enoshima-san will be mad at us tomorrow, so we better go to sleep early today to get some rest."

"What are you talking about? She's not going to be mad at us at all! I'm her favorite, after all, after Kamukura." Ouma argues, taking the apple in the middle after finishing his slice of pizza and examining it. "Ah, but that's a lie~."

"Don't lie, missy." Saihara mutters, "I'll put the food away. Go to bed." Ouma makes a whining noise before abruptly standing up, throwing the apple perfectly onto its platter. 

Saihara pauses, staring up at Ouma before Ouma sits down on Saihara's lap, a wide, innocent smile as his legs wrap around Saihara's torso. Saihara gives Ouma a blank look when Ouma starts to plead his fifth, "We don't _have to_ go to bed just yet, do we?" His voice is teasing, and when Ouma leads toward, Saihara stays still. "We can… have some fun, if you catch my drift."

Saihara decided to play Ouma's twisted game, leaning forward to Ouma's ear and whispering, "But that's a lie, isn't it?" Ouma seems to hesitate for a moment, before a wide smirk coming to his face.

He leans forward to plant a small kiss on Saihara's cheek, just like the one he did when they were both in highschool. "I don't know, _daddy…_ " Ouma abruptly stands up, looking at Saihara's face.

Saihara looks shocked as he did when he was younger. It's been such a long time that it makes Ouma laugh out loud, continuing, "Nishishishi! You should see that stupid look on your face, young master! Night, I'm going to bed and don't wake me unless you wanna sleep with me!" And as per usual, the criminal runs away from the crime scene.

Saihara raises his hand, before putting it down and rubbing his temples, his mind on something he'd rather not think. There's an unfinished pizza box, an apple and chips scattered, alcohol that only Saihara likes to drink, and some strange, concerning mix of… _something,_ on the floor. "I need to clean this up…" And yet, there's another interruption.

Ouma peeks his head out his door, wide eyes glancing up at Saihara and shouting a bit more loudly than their upstairs neighbors would like. "Also! Nice ass today, young master!" Of course, Ouma has both the capability and stupidity of a mad man.

Saihara throws the ripe apple at the purple headed midget, grabbing his alcohol and chugging it after to try and get that out of his head. He runs his hand through his hair and waves a farewell to the apple he sacrificed.

-—=Danganronpa Company and the people with it, July 14th, 3:49 AM=—-

"Wake up, missy." Saihara says in a soft voice, shaking the sleeping assassin as well as trying not to look at the fact Ouma suddenly decided it would be a good idea to buy two pairs of sunglasses earlier— If you ignore that the sunglasses Ouma got for himself looked like inappropriate words. "Fuck— I really need to change those before anyone else sees."

He pulls out his new sunglasses and tries to carefully shift them out with the ones that spell out " _FUCKS_ " it doesn't even make sense that there's an S at the end, and it doesn't look official enough for the guards at the front to let them in.

While Saihara reaches out to pull them off, Ouma's eyes flicker wide open, with a glint of something Saihara doesn't have the chance to see before Ouma reaches out for Saihara's arm and tries to twist it. He seems to be still half-asleep, Saihara has to guess, if he's pulling this crap on Saihara.

" _Missy_." Saihara says in a sturdy voice, yellow-grey eyes staring emptily at Ouma. That seems to remove Ouma's sleepy trance, eyes shifting to his hand, Saihara, and those eyes he's known for such a long time. His voice goes gentler, more quiet, "Give me those glasses. They annoy me."

There's a small pause, but Ouma cooperates, handing him the strange glasses and doing a loud whistle, "You know, I would've dumped those glasses if you told me to."

"I _did._ I told you seven times." Saihara groans, pulling out the new sunglasses Ouma got for him. Their sizes didn't quite match right, but Saihara knows it would fit him enough to not look as worse as the other pair.

Ouma shifts around in his seat until he's sitting up, and then standing. He's evolving. Ouma's legs never really were long enough to reach the bottom, so he just jumps out, hands up in the air like he should be proud of that. "Really? Hm… I don't remember— Ah, I got an extra pair for myself, so I don't need that, my beloved young master!"

And that doesn't seem to be a lie. He pulls out a black case, a small click noise as he opens and ta-da, a pair matching the ones he got for Saihara. Saihara isn't sure if he should be proud, worried, or frustrated. He decides to throw away any useless emotions and start walking towards the building.

The sky is still dark, though a small hint of color is slowly rising ground up and clouds swirl around like they were painted exaggerated. The small clicking heels from both the men came to a stop as soon as the building was in front of them, poor guards that couldn't get a wink of sleep last night standing still, arms crossed. They recognize Saihara and Ouma, the black suit and white suit, Missy and young master, doing a small nod and opening the gate.

Saihara mutters a small thanks, as Ouma hands one his profanity sunglasses. The guard whom he handed it to looks confused, and a small frown appears on that blank face. "Thanks, bye Bob-channyosa! Love ya and see you when I get home!" Ouma waves goodbye to them, a deceitful smile on his face like glue.

"Wha..? Who was he?" Saihara can hear the conversation, though far-off, and the voices sound more foggy than Saihara would be enjoyed. He must be new, Saihara decided, to not know, "And should I even look at what's in my pocket?" Saihara wonders.

"Ah- Right. You're new to the job. Listen kid, whatever you do, don't question any of the… " _special workers"_. They work in a sticky area that you wouldn't be able to stand. It's dangerous and you can't ever get out." Sounds like marriage.

Flashbacks from Saihara's first murder wraps around his head like a web. He only did it because they were threatening him with Ouma, planning to involve both in the business after killing Saihara's uncle in front of his eyes. The blood flowed slowly, like a calm river, out of the organelles from a strong knife jab to the kidney, missing the rib by just a little. He stabbed over and over just to make sure no word got out, but when he looked up, he saw the horrified look of Ouma.

"Special? Dangerous? Isn't Danganronpa Company just a company that designs phones?"

_It's a cover-up._

Before the conversation can end, it fades away with each step Saihara takes, each one heavier than the last. Each step weighing him down a thousand and more pounds than he can take— Saihara feels a hand up against his chest, which he isn't sure how to feel about, so he just stands still. "Hm… your nipples feel as good as always, young master! Keep doing the good work!" Ouma flashes him a wide smile and a thumbs-up.

"I…" At a sudden loss for words, Saihara watches as Ouma leans back into him, having to look up to see Saihara's gaze. "Missy, it really doesn't help when you place your entire face in my chest. Please back away." But Saihara doesn't force him to leave.

Saihara's ears are alert when he hears quiet steps, almost as though someone was trying to be silent and failing. The only people the well-trained guards at the front wouldn't let anyone else iin than the others and it was too early in the morning for most people, and Enoshima comes way later, when it's almost night. It must be… _Of course._

Ouma rolls his face in Saihara's chest for a few more seconds before smiling up at the resting-bitch-face man. He too, as well, seems to have noticed the walking steps of someone watching. "And you even smell like me! Wow, others might start to suspect you slept with me! Well, it's not like I would mind~." Ouma puts his hands to his cheeks and turns his head around like he was in an exaggerated manga show. "I can imagine it now! Our hot, steamy-"

"It's because I use your shampoo." Saihara clarifies to the person listening. Saihara did not want a misunderstanding first thing in the morning.

"Right, _right_. You just don't wanna say it outloud cuz some fucking dirty skunk off the driveway that just had sex with a dog is here! Ah- Oh hey, cumslutting condom machine! Y'know, that kinda reminds me of one of those PEZ machines where you push down and they dispense candy, but instead of that they just dispense a useless no-good's trash and condoms!" Ouma does his funny laugh while Iruma moans. _Loudly._

Miu Iruma changes her daily appearance and clothes regularly, unlike most of them who just have multiple pairs of a single suit. Today, she's wearing a tight black skirt and fishnet stockings, with a too tight buttoned-up shirt that shows a laced bra a little too defined. She wears sunglasses, but never at her eyes. Always at the top of her head, waiting but never used.

She's the inventor of strange gag gifts and some important weapons here, helping Souda, their main weaponist and making a _lot_ of sex jokes with him. She's only been here for a year or so, but she has amnesia, so she has no one to care for.

"Fucking— Missy, shut up. GGG… You, uh, shut up as well." Saihara commands, sighing and rubbing his forehead. Iruma makes an eep noise before moaning harder, falling to the road floor. "God, it's 3 in the goddamn morning. Don't give me even more stress than I already have... Missy, follow me." Ouma rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue at Iruma, otherwise known as GGG. Standing for… Actually, Saihara and Ouma aren't too sure themselves.

Saihara wasn't too close with her, not too close with anyone here, really. It was annoying, tiresome, and he didn't need connections when he already had—

"Oh, my, god! That look on your face though. You look so fucking _hot_ when you get annoyed, young master, it makes me want to strip so badly and get on all fours just for you." Ouma's voice goes low, and there's that suspicious smirk on his face that throws Saihara off. The smile disappears when Ouma looks straight, walking hard like a soldier. "That's a lie, of course!"

Saihara already had Ouma. "Whatever you say, missy." He opens the door for Ouma, and Ouma does a dramatic bow before entering. Ouma on the other hand… is more popular, in only dislike and like. No neutral.

One step in, and Ouma receives a high five from Akamatsu, as per usual, who didn't seem to sleep that night and is much too hyper despite it. "Aw, yeah! You two are here— Meaning, I can now go and work on one of the client's requests!"

Kaede Akamatsu, large eye bags underneath her eyes, but an honest smile on her face, grinning like she just won the lottery. Her hair, in the Akamatsu fashion, is curled at the edges and there's a clip in her hair— or even three clips. Her suit is simple, a black skirt right at her thigh, and a personal soft pink jacket not fit for the weather above her suit jacket and buttoned up shirt. Her tie, from her birthday, is the one Saihara got her interestingly enough. It's black and white, striped to look like piano keys. She doesn't wear sunglasses, but likes to wear a hoodie. Makes her look less professional, makes her look more human.

Some people who don't know believe Akamatsu is the leader, four years going straight working here, or at least in this group, when really, Saihara is the leader. He _has_ been here the longest, since his first year in high school, after all, and has reached most of them even when he didn't want to. He feels responsible for creating this mess of people, despite the factor that Enoshima was the one who forced him.

"Which one?" Ouma asks, putting his hands casually behind his head and Saihara watching one step behind.

"Ah, you know, the usual type. A detective, actually? Her name is Kyoto Kirigiri. Apparently, was found guilty of mass murder even when his alibi and everything was absolutely perfect. She's amazing at her job, I hear! And she's really pretty too." Akamatsu does a small wink and pauses before eyes shifting to Saihara's gaze, to which he can't help but look away behind his black-rimmed sunglasses. "Too bad she's married and pregnant, so I wasn't really sure if I wanted to have her blood on my hands. Have you ever met her before, young master?" She only asks because he works as a private investigator as a side job, a safety net if Enoshima ever dies and nobody is keeping him trapped here in this birch of a community.

Ouma answers before Saihara can, "Nope! Never, ever, pronto nope en wello has he ever met anyone like that. My beloved young master is just too good for that, aren't you?" His voice is sugared, like he's talking to a dog. It's a lie, of course, the fact Saihara has never met her, but Akamatsu seems to trust Ouma enough to make her own judgment. 

Saihara is tempted to _bark_ just to shock Akamatsu, but she speaks before he can.

"Well, if you say so, missy! Anyways, here, have an apple! Two, even! I'll be back later!" Akamatsu waves, a wide, carefree smile on her face like she wasn't just talking about cutting off someone's head. She throws two bite-sized apples their way with one hand and takes off.

Ouma smiles back like he wasn't just talking to Akamatsu about cutting off someone's head, yelling, "Bye, piano freak!" Her nickname, which Enoshima chose for Akamatsu herself. They say you couldn't just change someone's name as simple as that, their identity, who they are, but Enoshima did.

She did with all of them, Saihara thought silently as Ouma took a bite of the apple. "Don't eat it without washing it, hand it to me and we'll go upstairs to get these checked and washed." Ouma groans, muttering something about Tojo, before nodding and going along compliantly.

They head up the elevator in silence, not so much because there's nothing to talk about, but the feeling of safety that came with the silence as the black camera hid in the very corner. Saihara watches with a straight gaze, every slow turn it makes, every time it looks at Ouma. An indescribable feeling comes to him whenever he watches it, but he doesn't want to stop.

The elevator dings and they seem to be on the cafeteria's floor, very few people scattered here and around, one shouting, another one shouting at the shouter to shut up or death shall quickly approach, another shouting to the shouter for him to shout louder for anime, but when Saihara walks in, it all goes dead silent.

Momota seems rather impatient today, abruptly standing up and walking towards the two as his space jacket— snuck in as they were only ever allowed to wear black and white, and sometimes a little color— awkwardly sways. Harukawa, the one who has yet to shout still, stands up as well, in all her brown hair and sharp red eye glory, following behind with silent steps. 

"You..!" Momota shouts, teeth gritted as he points down to Ouma, "This little rat replaced my _gun_ with a fuckin' water gun! So when I sprayed it the target ran away!" There's a small pause before Ouma erupts into laughter, holding his stomach and trying to hold his head up on Saihara's chest. "Hey! Stop laughin'!"

Kaito Momota. He was three years older than Ouma and Saihara, but joined one year ago after his grandparents died. He was easy to get along with— Easier to mess with. Momota had a habit of misplacing items, getting heated up too easily, too loud, had a gambling habit, the list goes on. He's good at fighting though, fist fights, close-range gun shootings, physical training that they know how to teach you Police school. He was actually aspiring to be a policeman, Saihara thinks, or an astronaut. One of the two.

Maki Harukawa. She was more silent, unlike her partner. She joined five years ago, second year in high school, one year away from Saihara. She didn't catch on immediately, but rather slowly, trying to stick to one thing or the other most of the time. Harukawa moved from partner to partner, right now being Momota, getting the job done quicker than any of them despite slowly learning. Her always-changing nickname was _"Makiroll"_ for now, and strangely enough she was the only one who usually had their real name in their nickname.

Harukawa and Saihara have a silent exchange before both turning away. "Missy, please get off my chest…" Saihara mutters, rubbing Ouma's hair like he would with a dog. "Stop laughing."

"See? Even Sai- Uh, I mean, young master agrees with me! Ha!" Momota points out, and Ouma scowls, holding onto Saihara like a lifeline.

"Shut up, You degenerates! Mage is trying to sleep!" Chabashira screams, face scrunched up as Saihara glances over. She and Yumeno are at another table, the shorter one sleeping, drool slowly falling down and the other screaming. Saihara supposes she was the one yelling for Momota to shut up. "Ugh! Boys are so useless, don't make me come there and make me use—"

"Your weird and ugly version of Aikido won't ever hurt me!" Ouma shouts, arms still wrapped around Saihara's waist, which Saihara was trying his best to pull him off non-forcefully. "I have the power of young master and Anime by my side! If you even lay a finger on me, you're dead~." He sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry.

Shirogane, in the corner, makes a gasp and turns her head dramatically to Ouma.

Tsumugi Shirogane, a rather loyal worker for Enoshima. Saihara really doesn't know much about her, only that she infiltrates by using clothes as her best technique— Then again, that is only what Saihara has heard. She wears a long black skirt down to her ankles, black shoes hard to see under it, her long hair down unlike most of the female assassins here, and a white button-up that screams, " _I eat toothpicks for a living fite me nerd"_.

"It's called Neo-Akido, stupid degenerate!" Chabashira shouts, "You're just mad because you weren't born a girl!" She huffs, standing up with crossed arms, her face squinting.

"Everyone, shut up. Do you all want to die?" Harukawa says, red eyes glaring around, breaking the air of the room back into petrified silence. Saihara glances up at the camera in the corner of the room. Two to the front wall, one behind, one more in the corner. 

"Why…" Saihara starts, and everyone's eyes fall to him, "Why are you five up so early? If I remember correctly, Enoshima-san never assigned you any assignments to do, and piano freak was the only one with a job to do." Shirogane thinks for a moment, tapping her glasses with a frown on her face.

"Ew! I don't want to answer a question from a disgusting male!" Chabashira's face turns sour, as per usual when asked a question from a male— Ah, I should probably tell you her introduction now, shouldn't I?

Tenko Chabashira, raised in a cathedral church after her parents got killed with a gunshot to the head and adopted at a young age by Enoshima's parents and currently dead twin sister. She didn't get into this business until she was in her last year of high school, killing the dead twin sister at Enoshima's command. She developed a new type of Japanese martial arts, Neo-Aikido, and has won many awards. But she doesn't have enough experience, as most victims of the Danganronpa Company were female, and Chabashira has promised to kill herself if she kills a single woman.

Enoshima seems to claim her as still useful, though utterly boring.

"Uh- We can't tell you." Momota bluntly says, and Harukawa glares sharpened daggers into his soul. "I don't really know what's goin' on… Enoshima—"

"It's Enoshima-san, actually." Shirogane explains, before having a panicked look on her face and waving her hands apologetically. "A-Ah, it then again I'm just a plain ol' assassin, so what do I know?" Shirogane always remained proper in both language and cloth-wise. She wore small spectacles, though more for eyesight rather than looks

Momota groans, "Fine. Enoshima- _san_ told us somethin' about that luck guy, Komaeda's his name? Can't remember. Anyways, she was going on and _on and on_! Now, I'm usually not the guy to complain but she went on for a long time— You have to do what you want instead of talking! I told her, and then she gave me an apple." Another apple. Was that where Akamatsu got her's? Momota continued his long rant, nothing in particular standing out. If there was any drop of hints he was sending, then Saihara wasn't getting it.

"She told us to all come here before 8 AM." Harukawa simply says, not explaining any further.

Ouma decides to speak up, twirling an awkwardly placed strand of hair like he was torturing a caterpillar, "Hm… An apple? How strange! She gave us an orange, that old geezer… She knows apples are my favorite fruits! How dare she!" Ouma covers his mouth with a hand and gasps, eyes going wide. There are two lies, one that Saihara would rather not poke at.

"Don't lie, missy. You hate fruits." Saihara sighs, rubbing his neck. "So does that mean Kamukura-kun will be coming..?" Everyone pauses again, little mutters that can barely be heard among them made. 

Kamukura was the only one who was called by his name, the only one directly working for Enoshima in this type of field that was called his real name— But perhaps that was a lie in itself, maybe his name was something simpler like Akira Kurusu, maybe it's his real name. He works for Enoshima, but doesn't, drifting back and forth between things. He doesn't speak much; He doesn't need to speak to get stuff done. He never appears here, or anywhere really, so it's hard to find him. Komaeda used to live with him, back when Saihara was in high school and Kamukura didn't work for Enoshima, when Komaeda wasn't always coughing fits and having to get a check-in every week about some disease or the other, Saihara isn't sure.

Komaeda's long lost words echo in Saihara's head like a train, coming for a moment at high speeds, and then disappearing at the same force. _"You and Ouma-kun remind me of myself_ — _Though, of course, in no way am I trying to be rude! You remind me of… Hah, him and I… Ah, but please ignore my words and continue your day! Sorry!"_

Saihara wonders what Komaeda meant.

"Mn, I'm plainly not sure." Shirogane says softly, rubbing her neck. Momota agrees, but louder and more agitated, following up with Chabashira saying something about Yumeno needing sleep, and the topic fades. 

Momota goes back, glaring at the smirking Ouma in his absolutely natural habitat, and as Harukawa starts to move, she accidentally drops a piece of paper. It's a grizzly yellow and worn-down and smaller than Saihara's palm when he goes to pick it up.

His eyes linger at the notes message, written in perfect handwriting. _Meet me on the third floor at 5 AM and go to the abandoned storage room, then turn left and knock on the metal door three times next to the doorknob._ He furrows his brows before Harukawa sees it, red eyes staring at Saihara for one moment too long and then going to Momota, saying in her straight-line voice, "You can keep it. It means nothing of value to me now."

Saihara does a silent nod as Ouma unhinged himself like a living door off of Saihara, glancing at it for a moment and grinning, grinning for whatever reason Saihara doesn't know, and saying, "Wow! Or is it owo? Hey young master, what is it that the young gangsters say to their kin again?" Saihara doesn't acknowledge the question, and Ouma continues, "Ah. Oh well. I forgot what I was going to say so it doesn't matter in the first place— Though that's a lie of a lie of a lie!"

"Isn't that plainly just a lie—" Shirogane starts, raising her index finger as though to try and point in the air, her eyes not focused on Ouma, really, but on Saihara. Something strange seemed to be going on, with all the strange glances and footnotes, people actually talking to and with him for once, but Saihara would have to wait a little longer.

The camera in the corner tilted left.

"Anywho~!" Ouma smirks, hand smacking Saihara's butt and the other hand, stiff, up in the air, "Let's get going, young master!" Saihara silently follows along, lips tightly bit and trying not to call Ouma out on what he just did three seconds ago.

The apples, still in Saihara's hold, eventually reach the kitchen. Ouma places one down in the sink, grabs one of the kitchen knives that Saihara remembers he used as a prank to try and scare the always calmly smiling Rantaro Amami, approximately four years ago, back when Ouma still had a crush on the guy he now considers as, and I tell you a first person evidence from voice recording. _"He's a fucking bitch. One moment he leads me on by saying he wouldn't mind sleeping with me, and then he tries to kill me_ — _And then the next? He's on the goddamn floor shitting ass to me about his new sunglasses and cat wallpaper! Like, bruh, I'm giving up. I mean, I already found the one I want to marry anyway! I love marriage. But long-commitment relationships hurt me head, so I wont be marrying."_ Saihara didn't get those few last sentences, as they were said too quickly and Ouma hung up after that, but he got the idea. 

So, in short, Amami is now like a brother; Well, if that brother is gay and incestual like Shinguji, as well as polyarmous— Or is full-on just announcing he would cheat on his girlfriend type-of-guy.

They wash the apples in silence, and Ouma leans a little too close that he ends up falling between Saihara's hand and Saihara's knife. 

Everyone goes to the first floor, the waiting room, waiting, waiting. Ouma makes a joke about how pretty Saihara's eyes are, and how lovely his lips look that he wishes to put a certain something in between that sets Momota off, and they have a small fight before Tojo comes, hands neatly folded and a forgotten apron on her front when blood splatters, the first blood of the fight, and Tojo stops them before it can get any more out of hand.

The moment Akamatsu comes in, a wide smile takes her place, forced, from what Saihara can tell, with Amami, rubbing the back of his head as he glances down on his Apple phone, unconsiuosly frowning like his twelve sisters all died from mass murder— Or maybe they already did. Ouma forgot when he told it to Saihara.

They eat the apples, and Iruma seems to have finally made it inside, carrying a bundle of color assorted wires tangled up, hand on her hip as she smirks at Ouma, cursing him out until the moment she cusses back, ending with her flailing down the floor with a disgusting moan.

Korekiyo Shinguji arrives, his black suit curved a little at the ages and the creases folded, hiding a small blood splatter. His mouth is covered, black mask, black sunglasses, black hat, his face hidden beyond recognition. He talks a little bit, before quietly going to the corner to play chess with Hoshi, who nobody seemed to have even noticed.

They wait a bit; Gonta arrives, barging in with a worm and a shocking scream from the awakening Yumeno sets Chabashira off, trying— And failing, to smash everyone that is a boy, who knows what she would do with someone other than a male and a female.

They wait a bit more, and as Ouma whines for attention next to Saihara, who naturally repels it, Yonaga, rumoured to have started an occult once, comes from the window. She gets, unsurprisingly, stuck, legs kicking hazardously on one side and arms swinging around before Momota tries to pull her forward, Akamatsu making a side note about the fact she can see Yonaga's bathing-suit presumed underwear, Iidabashi arrives from the other side and tries to push her head into the window.

5 AM comes and it seems everyone— If you exclude Kamukura, is here. It's raining, monsoon season, Saihara tells himself, not bad luck. A small thunderbolt hits the sky when it turns exactly 5 AM, and Harukawa is staring at him expectantly; Everyone is.

He supposes it was for him, and stands up, briskly swiping at his clothes, and Ouma tends up with him on instinct, deceivingly innocent purple eyes staring at him with a blank expression, hand being held out for a handshake, for some peculiar reason.

"What… What do you want, missy?" Saihara asks, eyes peeking down to see the cheery other jump a little bit, tilting his head as though obvious. There's a moment of silence after Saihara speaks, and everyone turns quiet to glance at him, until slowly, Saihara reaches Ouma's hand and shakes it. 

Ouma opens his mouth, shutting it, and then opening it again, repeating the cycle for a few more seconds before saying, "Wow, young master, I never thought you'd be this dense! I just wanted to hold your hand for once, can't I do that and live at the same time?" Ouma pouts, his hands on his hips.

"What? You obviously have one of those- those pocket hand farting things! Stop lying!" Momota shouts, eyes glaring at the smaller boy. Ouma laughs at that, and Saihara can't help but think Momota is kind of stupid for saying it like _that._

Saihara looks to Ouma, sharing an exchange. Ouma bites his lip before sitting back down, leaning his head back and legs crossed, arms tangled somewhere in his hair with a sigh, "God, space boy, it's called a whopper cushion. Get it _right_ , nerd." 

"It's not space _boy_ , it's space _man_!-"

The elevator snaps with a close, a moment of pure silence, and hardcore music begins playing from Mioda, whenever she visits with Tsumiki. The third floor had no one, as everyone was at the front waiting for whatever random thing Enoshima has come up next, mass suicide to playing with puppies and leaving them to Komaeda afterwards.

Komaeda. Saihara wonders where he is, what he's doing, what he's thinking. Then again Saihara can't ever tell what Komaeda even thinks, only talking about some supposed hope, praising the emotionless Kamukura, or berating himself. He, really, had no use, but he always came, and Enoshima never spoke about it, lips tightly sealed in a scowl.

The abandoned storage was empty, besides the usual few glass bottles left, and the running cockroaches in the corner, scouring around. Small droplets of water fell next to the metal door, and Saihara pauses, glancing behind himself. In the abandoned storage, nobody was here. In the abandoned storage, there were no cameras. That was either good or bad, depending on what will happen.

He knocks three times, close to the locked doorknob. 

There's a small click, and before he can even blink he's being pulled like he's a carefree kid to a white van where adults suck toes and it has the words " _Free Candy"_ at the top instead of a well-trained six year assassin.

"A-Ah..!?" Saihara widens his eyes, sunglasses falling off as he is swiftly pulled into the dark room. Handcuffs, snapped to his wrists too quick and too easily, and a light switch flickers on, the light having to adjust Saihara's eyes.

Saihara isn't too sure what type of room this is. There's a couch against the wall, which he has been pushed on by his offenders, a fridge, pure crystalline white and well-taken care of, a homey carpet with a small due-it-yourself type of bed in the corner, another door leading somewhere Saihara wasn't sure where.

Overall, it all seemed too homely, as well as too clean. And when he turns to the people who grabbed him, lo and behold, it's Komaeda, white fringy hair curling at the wrong edges, wearing only a graphically designed T-shirt and too tight-looking jeans despite the cold air of the room. And who stands next to him, is quite the sight; Kamukura, with his heterochromic Christmas-pair eyes.

-—=A Room with a Metal Door and the Three Weirdos Inside, July 14th, 5:08 AM=—-

"Hello there, Saihara-kun! Nice day we're having, but… ah, are you missing your sunglasses?" Komaeda asks, tilting his head and scratching his cheek. Kamukura gives Komaeda a cold glance before turning to Saihara again, "I know, I know, Hinata-kun! I'm sorry for being such a nuisance." Komaeda does his usual cheerful laugh. 

_Hinata._ Saihara frowns.

"I said nothing," Spits out Kamukura, not frowning or smiling, tie as straight as ever— Ah, though now that Saihara is looking closer, it seems it's a little crooked today, perhaps pointing to Komaeda's fault.

"As per always! Impressive telepathic work, Hinata-kun!" Komaeda smiles, looking his best; looking like a homosexual psycho. If Saihara were to tell the truth, he has never seen these two interact before, much less Kamukura say more than one word, and the sight of this makes Saihara's ahoge wobble a bit. "Hm… Oh! We-"

"You." Kamukura corrects.

Komaeda laughs some more, "I should probably explain why Harukawa showed you a letter that brought you here. That's because of what happened yesterday." Saihara's blood goes cold, "Ah! Such a look on your face! So hopeful…" Drool dribbles down Komaeda's mouth, and Kamukura pokes at a bandage on Komaeda, "Anyways— Enoshima-san has been restless lately, and i must have done something to have her to have an unfortunate event, because she—" Kamukura pokes him again. "I apologize, Hinata-kun! So anyways.

"Enoshima-san wants to have one of you dead, to sum it up! I apologize for taking so long to get it out, Saihara-kun, I truly do!" Komaeda smiles, like a dog waiting to get its treat. "Hinata-kun, was that good enough?" Kamukura gives him a pause, before petting the top of Komaeda's mysterious cotton candy head in silence.

"Wha- Komaeda-kun, what the fucking hell." Saihara says, but Kamukura and Komaeda seem too busy treating each other like a pet and master that they can't hear him. He must be in hell, he decides, a burning hate of nothing but torture. 

It's five in the morning, can't you let a guy just chill?

-—=Junko Enoshima's Office, July 14th, 8:32 AM=—-

"So…" Enoshima's voice is wavering, sounding drunk, she doesn't just sound it, she _is_ drunk, swaying around until she knocks down four of the bear mascots at her table and sits down with an apple on her hand. 

She hiccups.

"She's as drunk Gay Gnome Gone gets when she's drunk," Ouma whispers over to Saihara, the person he was reffering to being Iruma, otherwose known as GGG. Though Saihara doubts that is what it truly stands for. There's a loud whack on the table when Komaeda plants a kiss on Kamukura's cheek from Enoshima, and Komaeda leaves. "Ooh~ Komaeda-chan is being thirsty today."

"Shut up, dickwad!" Iruma yells over, before proudly straightening her back.

They're all in a straight line, facing Enoshima's desk with hands behind their back, waiting for her drunk order. She starts slurring, either feigning ignorance or annaware of the mutters in the air. "So… Whhaaaa weeeee- Woosh! WHad we doing today, bitches? Huh? _Huh?_ " Enoshima cocks her head, one eye halfway shut. "Y'know… Hey, young master." Saihara's name. Something is going to happen, " You wanna tell me why Komaeda— That fuckin'—" Kamukura leaves when Enoshima that out _pussy._ "Still aliiiive? WHY!?" Her voice turns angry, slamming the table again and scowling.

Saihara back remains straight when Enoshima stands up, apple in hand. "I failed to kill him." Simple words make people angry, angry people cause commotion, and Enoshima throws the apple like a hardball straight to Saihara's face. He manages to catch in time.

"HUH!? FAILED TO KILL HIM, YOU GODDAMN BASTARD!? I'M GOIN' TO HAVE YOUR BITCHING COUSIN KILLED! I HOPE YOU KNOW I STILL HAVE HER!" Enoshima screams, trying to throw a punch at Saihara. She isn't weak, but she isn't stronger than he is. It's middle ground, and he stops the punch. 

This seems to enrage Enoshima, screaming, "FUCKING MOTHEFUCKER! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD HANGED IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND FEED YOU TO YOUR COUSIN, AND SHE WON'T EVEN KNOW!" Saihara hangs his head a little lower, sunglasses showing nothing. Enoshima scoffs, spitting at his shoes before glancing at everyone else in the room.

Saihara is considered the leader, despite Akamatsu being the friendliest, despite Ouma's strategies, despite Momota's persistence, Yonaga's leadership, Iruma's genius ideas, everyone else, and Kamukura's existence. No one knows why, especially since he won't assassinate with anyone else other than Ouma, but he is the leader, and everyone knows that, everyone trusts that,, and the leader is being threatened.

"You…" Enoshima slurs, red fingernails pointing straight to Ouma, "DICE is the name of your gang… They're locked up in one of my cells… If you don't kill this little BASTARD right here! They'll be dead, and if young master dies, I'll feed him to his cousin, three days tops!" Enoshima's voice sounds sickening sweet at the end, popping her p's.

Ouma looks so weak, to everyone's surprise. His voice cracks a little as he speaks, "W-What?" He pushes his sunglasses in and glances at Saihara, who in return, doesn't look back.

Enoshima does a dramatic turn, a wide smirk on her face. "And YOU! I want you to… to… kill missy before she can kill you, three days TOPS! And… hm, I guess I can feed the body to that little fucking orgy cult he's created." Enoshima does a loud laugh, snapping her hand with another apple, ripe in her hand. "hah, anyways, I'm bored."

And now, missy and young master's clearly fun, no homo homicide here buddy friendly adventure to sudden death quakes in, but they both know they'd rather kill themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions in the comment, it love to answer them! Also, let me just explain how and when this will update right here... AND ALSO, THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH TO DELETEITIMPHAT <3\. This person, right here, is the best. And if you're reading this right now, here's my message for you: _The apples will be murdered and turned into apple sauce._
> 
> Anyways, so, I have two other works, one being closed to finish and the other that will continue for probably, two years? One year? Three? Not sure. But this will update around a week later after I complete my prompts thing, or after I get done with the second-to-last request there. Right now, I'm also experimenting with writing styles, since I don't really use a certain one, so yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading and have a slightly-above-average type of day! :'D


End file.
